Colors
by Andrea Weiling
Summary: AU fic. The story of a boy who struggles with the injustice of a society governed by a unjust 'color' system. Sorry for long update. Someone complained about K&K's boring love story...so I changed it...
1. Four Strange Happenings

Note before I start: This is from Killua's point of view. I don't mention his name anytime here, nor do I describe him, so I'm just telling you beforehand that this is Killua. Okay, read.  
  
Ch.1: Four Strange Happenings  
  
Actually, part of me wanted to pity the poor teacher. As the young, blonde, twenty-year-old professor stood up on the podium, trying to teach, the students mockingly threw paperwads and spit spitballs at him. Several times, now, the poor teacher had tried to quiet down the class. To the side, the student aide looked at her nails and cleaned them on her nail file. A few times, he looked at her beseechingly, but she just gave him a lazy, hooded glance and continued checking her nails. When she was done, she started on her feet.  
  
The students laughed. I laughed too, though a little part of me told me that it was wrong that students should be so disrespectful to any teacher, whether he was a Green or not. But even as I cackled again and tore another sheet of paper out of my notebook and crumpled it up, I told myself that I was having fun. I wasn't really, of course, but if I held back, the other Azures would look at me funny, and I'd had enough of that for some time.  
  
This lasted for quite some minutes. The teacher managed to write the date and his name on the board before an especially boisterous student named Ubogin got up and grabbed the eraser and erased the carefully written words. Being a Green, the teacher couldn't lift a hand against him; he was a Violet, the highest status. For a moment, everyone wanted the teacher to attack the stupid student (he was too big for his stupid boots anyway), but that would just end up the teacher in disgrace and ultimately FIRED from the school systems for all time and the student excused without anything more than a detention or a verbal reprimand. And Ubogin treated those punishments like parties: when they were here, they were fun – if they weren't fun, he made them fun for him. If they were constricting, all he had to do was show his Violet armband on his arm and the teachers would grumble.  
  
There weren't many Violets at this school, actually. It didn't really matter how much money they had – but rather what Color they were born into. If Ubogin was a Violet from birth, then he was a Violet for life because that was the highest status any citizen could achieve. People like the teacher, whose name was Kurapika Kurata, didn't rise up because he had a lowly job, could barely earn enough money to pay his rent (if the manager of the building was a higher Color than their tenants, they could raise the price), and could barely afford to eat at the cafeteria. Some of the students said that he couldn't even afford a present for himself at Christmas. Pathetic, of course, but that was the way it went. Plus, he probably wouldn't rise up in Colors at all, because he had participated in the Rebel Color Movement of 1989 and the government had actually caught him. According to those who were also caught (and probably made up a whole bunch of lies), Kurapika Kurata had been one of the main ringleaders.  
  
And maybe he had been. But certainly, he didn't look like a ringleader now. He looked like a highly distressed, highly P.O.ed teacher who couldn't exactly take any more abuse. And just as the class started to throw more paper, more junk at the teacher, trying to make him attack them so he would get fired, he just calmly stopped writing, and went over to the desk. As the students watched, he booted up the computer amid a barrage of rather nasty spitballs that came from the right side of the room, and called up something.  
  
And then, he did something completely uncomprehensible. He smiled faintly, and started typing rapidly. Once in a while, he would look up. The paperwads and spitballs stopped, and the students stopped. They couldn't get out of their desks (they were locked on the side) unless the teacher gave the release button a tap. How Ubogin got up earlier was quiet simple; very early in the year, he had broken his lock and just pretended to have it locked every time the staff walked around checking desks. On top of that, he probably bribed the janitor to let him leave the desk alone anyway. The teacher stopped typing, closed down the computer, and turned back to the board. Quietly and thoroughly mystified, the students copied down the four ways to determine a variable and then the outlines of Shakespearean writing afterwards.  
  
Never had the class passed so quietly. When the bell rang, we got out our reading books and read for the allotted thirty minutes that was determined SSR by the school board (all Violets). A few times, Ubogin and some of his buddy-buddy pals threw a few ball of paper the teacher's way, but with an ease that he had not shown before, the teacher dodged all of them like they were simply passing butterflies.  
  
When the bell rang again, we filed out in a single file, something that had never happened before. Once outside, our class met for an unofficial 'meeting' to see what happened. Immediately the study freaks were called upon, and Ubogin smacked a hand above little Shizuku's head and demanded what she thought of the teacher's behavior.  
  
"I – I think we should check the school records", Shizuku stuttered. The whole class, thirty-three in all, trooped to the library. With Shalnark in our class, we could just about track down any action any teacher had done on the computer in the last twenty-four hours. After madly typing, Shalnark summed it all up: new news was bad. Very bad.  
  
Everyone in the class now had an 'F'. Even the study freaks (several which of threw paperwads) got 'F's, which was rather surprising, seeing how their grades, even if they paid no attention in class, still remained up in the 'A' category. The even worse news, as everyone knew, was the school was out in two weeks. Which, of course, meant that we wouldn't be able to bring up our grades high enough to pass before the year was over. And even though who had 'A's in the first semester would get at most a 'C'. This was not appealing news.  
  
"Course of action!", Ubogin yelled at the top of his lungs. The librarian was only an Azure; she couldn't do anything, just glare at him for a moment, then look back down. "We have to get some people to beat him up. That'll teach him to mess with us!", he crowed. A few brows turned down; it didn't occur to the overgrown Violet that even if they DID beat Kurapika Kurata, the Lowly Green as we liked to call him, he still could have the grades remain as they were. As far as I knew, he had been a leader in the Rebel Color Movement in 1989, right? That mean he had some backbone. But before anyone could say anything, Ubogin had already heralded two other boys and me to the front. "Beat him up", he instructed us gleefully, and I could see the gold tooth in the back of his jaw even though he was no more than sixteen years old. "I want him BROKEN by tomorrow!"  
  
Leorio, Gon and I looked at each other. "Get it?", Leorio said sarcastically. We knew what he meant; by nature, Leorio was a peaceful soul who never raised a hand against anyone unless they truly needed it. He was training to be a doctor – or so I heard. I couldn't imagine why Ubogin would chose him to beat up a teacher when he barely knew how to throw a punch.  
  
"Probably wanted more 'backbone' on me or something", the tall would- be-doctor muttered as we walked back to our classroom. But almost immediately we stopped, and the whole class of thirty-three stared up into the face of Kuroro Rushihiru, teacher of C-12D. Every student that came from his class was perpetually odd. They grouped together on the field at recess and at lunch, talking about things that wasn't healthy: Shakespeare, the study of biological differences between Darwin's chickadees, and Confucian philosophy. The other five sophomore classes regarded them as mentally unclean, having been tainted with the disease of learning. Some of them actually weren't bad to talk to – after you got over the fact that they compared everything with either Hamlet or Oscar Wilde.  
  
"May I help you, gentlemen?", the ever-pleasant, perpetually-smiling teacher asked. Some people said that he wore a mask all the time; no one could smile for 24 hours. Students whispered that he even smiled in his sleep and that he was still a virgin. Probably true, because no one could ever imagine him in some sleazy lady's arms and madly making out with her. A few students coughed; the passing bell had started to ring. Still, the dark-haired teacher wouldn't let us go. Giving us a soft smile, he chided, "Now, now, it's not good to plot against teachers, especially one that has been so nice to you for this whole year."  
  
This of course, caused the whole class to either look away in pain or snort. Kurapika Kurata had not been a nice teacher. One could call him downright stingy with the points. None of us took into account that even the quiet failures of the class and the gaudy girls who braided at each other's hair and gazed longingly at the males in magazines all day got full participation points. None of us took into account that after progress reports, he was always, always willing to change grades – even if the points had always been correct. Kurapika Kurata, in our eyes, was the meanest teacher to ever come our way. Plus, he was a GREEN, that that totally made him inferior to us.  
  
"So what?", Ubo defended. "He deserves it."  
  
The teacher looked like he was about to say something else, but then abruptly turned and walked out of the door. Before he left, I caught a glance as he stopped by the library desk and laid a reminiscing hand on one of the books on the desk. The librarian gave him a glance, but he was already out the door and into the hall. Some of the students behind us looked at each other; was it just us, or did Kuroro just look angry? He was unruffle-able. He was smiling, always hiding what he was brainwashing in those poor students. We filed back into the classroom. Today was most definitely odd.  
  
In the middle of class, suddenly the door opened, and Kuroro stepped in with a brisk pace. He gestured to Kurapika for a moment. To our shock, he clasped the blonde's shoulder in a friendly manner as they walked out. All of us sighed in relief as Kurapika absently brushed it from his shoulder. A Violet touching a Green? It was sacrilege, almost, like throwing a baseball into the most expensive department store downtown. It was in front of everyone, and the worst thing you could do. Greens weren't stupid, I guess. They were just unlucky. That's it, unlucky. They were unlucky to be born into such a class. But that wasn't our fault! Our system was, by the most part, just, wasn't it? I didn't doubt it, just went along with it. Why should I complain when it put me in one of the higher classes?  
  
The teachers came in after a few moments. Even from my seat in the back row, I could see Kurapika's face white and strained, as if someone had pulled all the strings in his face. Kuroro looked rather concerned (why should he be concerned about a stupid Green?), and for the second time that day, we watched as the Violet put a hand on the only Green in the room's shoulder, and asked him if he was alright. This time Kurapika's reaction was like being burned: immediately he slapped Kuroro's hand away, and gave all of us a furtive glance. Then, seeing that we were just as puzzled at Kuroro's behavior as he was, he took a few steps and sat down in his chair. We stared for a moment as he buried his head in his hands. We wondered just what had defeated him so. And I guess you could say I, for the second time in my life, felt sorry for that teacher.  
  
Shalnark raised a hand. Without looking up, Kurapika mourned, "What is it?"  
  
The student cleared his throat. "We're done copying the board, Kurapika."  
  
The teacher stayed idle for only a heartbeat more. Then he was back up, and he erased the left side of the board and started to copy down another set of notes. No one noticed Kuroro was still there until Kurapika said pointedly, "Please leave, Kuroro."  
  
All eyes turned to the dark-haired teacher. That sounded like a threat, if Greens could ever threaten Violets. But all the Violet did was shift his weight to the other foot and lean his hand casually on the corner of the teacher's desk, a sure sign he did not want to leave. I wondered why. I knew the other students were just as confused as I was. Everyone watched as Kurapika closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, threw down the marker for the white board, and walked past Kuroro to the door. Opening it, he gestured a rude hand and held it open. "Go", the blonde teacher said, his voice quiet but the sound seemed to rock off the walls. A moment passed.  
  
Kuroro walked out, but not before grabbing Kurapika's arm and whispering something quickly in his ear. Kurapika seemed to think about for a moment, then said softly, "I know."  
  
The words rang around my head. He knew! HE KNEW WE WERE GOING TO AMBUSH HIM!  
  
Ubo gave us three in the back row a significant look. We were to go through our little plan no matter if Kurapika knew or not. To him, it didn't really matter; wasn't his job. But to me, my heart gave a little extra beat. I wondered, for the first time in my life, what it would be like to be a Green, to have all thirty-three of your students hate your very guts, and have a Violet be kind to you. You'd feel ashamed, I'd imagine, to stoop low to receive help from a Violet – I could only imagine that Kurapika had a lot of pride, had a lot of determination, especially to be the ringleader of the Rebel Color Movement of 1989.  
  
The bell rang. Kurapika hit the release button on our locked desks. We pushed out. The three of us hung back, waiting for the teacher to cross the street. After half an hour, Kurapika hurried out of the building. We smiled. Our plan should work just about now. And just as we thought, Kurapika tripped over the wire that Leorio had fastened against the lightpost on the other side of the sidewalk. His briefcase skidded like a drunk car to the middle of the street. Gon was smirking; I knew what he was thinking – I, too, hoped that a car would come and crush that leather like a dead cat.  
  
But before we could get him and pummel him to the ground, the sound of clipped shoes caught our attention. Quickly we backed into the bushes again. Kurapika didn't seem to move. I hoped a little fall like that wouldn't kill someone. It wouldn't, right? Even my little sister could survive a little fall like that!  
  
The owner of the shoes stepped into view. It was Kuroro.  
  
For a moment, he looked down at Kurapika. Then, very slowly, he knelt, slid an arm around the blonde twenty-year-old's form, and lifted him up. Taking the white handkerchief from his pocket, the Violet dabbed at Kurapika's bloody nose. The white soaked up the red like a rose.  
  
We looked at each other. Nevermind the beating up. We had just witnessed, from a VIOLET, the most horrendous of acts: he had helped someone in the class under him on his own free will! It was insane; did Kuroro look to be destatitized [meaning de-status-ized]? It was pointless; Kurapika, a Green, could have gotten up on his own. All three of us shared horrified looks before picking up our bags and dashing home. I had a feeling that Ubo would be mad tomorrow, but I had to think about this. Why? Why did a Violet help a perfectly fine Green? It didn't make sense. It didn't make any sense at all. 


	2. Pain

Don't get me wrong. This is NOT a KilluaxKurapika fic. It's a different pairing. You'll see.  
  
Ch.2: Pain  
  
When we got to school the next day, we faced a very angry Ubo. But when we described what had happened, his face grew a little thoughtful (yeah, as if the big stupid oaf could think in the first place) and he dismissed us. Word spread that Kuroro had helped a Green, his fellow sophomore teacher Kurapika. Generally, Kurapika was unwelcome in the school at all, to both staff and students. He WAS the only Green. How he managed to get into the school to teach was a mystery that no one could unravel. On a hunch, I think Kuroro knew, somehow – but to the students and the rest of the staff, Kurapika was generally unknown enigma that now everyone wanted to know about. The old rumors about the blonde teacher resurfaced, and the older students now found their arms full of little freshmen, wanting to know about the teacher. Several of the girls, as I heard, actually thought he was pretty hot – but they were quickly shushed. He WAS a Green. We didn't want him thinking we liked him or anything.  
  
Class started quietly, as it did for the rest of the year. On the second part of class, after lunch, Kuroro again stepped inside. This time Kurapika's face didn't turn that pasty color it was yesterday when Kuroro spoke to him. It looked quite normal when he came back inside. And Kuroro didn't follow him this time; we assumed he had gone back to his classroom, which was probably still in session. But as I said before, C-12D was a strange class that always kept quiet. So, I guess Kuroro would be able to keep away from them for a few moments to speak with Kurapika.  
  
Today we had history. Modern history, of course. It talked about the teachings of General Eterny Marks, who developed the system of the Colors way back in the beginning of the 1900s. In a monotonous tone, Kurapika read the script that ran down the pages. It also touched on the five Rebel Color Uprisings of 1920, 1923, 1975, 1981, and finally 1989. After each detailed (too detailed and too long-drawn, like death) description of what happened in each movement, there was a little bio on the main players in that movement. After the last one, to our amazement, there was "Kurapika Kurata (1952 -)", and a little bio about him. I wondered if the older students had forgotten about this part of the curriculum; here was everything.  
  
"Kurapika Kurata was born on Colony Kurata in quadrant 46. His mother divorced his father when he was six. He lived with his aunt after his mother died. During the time, he attended Yorkshire University and earned the greatest honor that could be received at that school. When he was fifteen, he joined the Underground Color Movement and marched with them during September of 1989. He now teaches 12th grade sophomore classes at Brooklyn High, on addition to his music and mythology classes at Lomas University."  
  
I was amazed. Our SCHOOL was mentioned in this book. Our very TEACHER was mentioned. All of us looked up to see what he was doing. He didn't seem fazed at all, that his name was blatantly on the white page in front of him. He read the curriculum like it had been John Fremont or Father Jose Junipera. He didn't seem to realize that that was HIS name that was on the page. And as I looked at the young teacher, I realized that, in a way, he was kind of beautiful. The girls had good eyes, I figured; if Kurapika had not been a Green, there would've been a whole bunch of girls around him. The way his hair fell, the detached concentration on the book before him – he looked like a picture in a book that someday, a millennium later, a student would look at and point and say, "Hey, that's Kurapika Kurata." In a strange kind of way, he looked nice. Real nice.  
  
Shalnark hand was raised. Kurapika nodded. "Kurapika Kurata, do you realize that this is your history on this page?"  
  
Kurapika looked up and gave a nonchalant nod. The class' eyes grew wide. He wasn't happy that his name was in the book (even if it was listed as a rebel)? He wasn't proud that he had gained so much fame that his own students would see his name in the book?  
  
Shalnark cleared his throat again. "Um, isn't it an honor to have your name in the book?"  
  
The teacher looked at all of us for a long moment. His eyes seemed to behold all of us at once. Then he answered softly, almost painfully, "It is no honor to be listed as a criminal."  
  
Shizuku stood. "I don't think it's that…", she withered under Kurapika's gaze, "…bad."  
  
A change wrought itself over Kurapika's face, just for a moment. The way the light shone right down, the way it slanted right through his bangs and seemed to reveal everything in his hidden eyes – for a moment it seemed like he believed her. It seemed, for a moment, that we were looking at a younger, happier, fifteen-year-old blonde who thought he was doing the right thing, joining the Rebel Color Movement. It looked like hope, like increduousity, it looked like everything good from Pandora's box. That expression seemed to lift all of our spirits – it seemed so inspirational, so incredibly REAL. It was the look of a man who had the world in his hands, holding the Holy Grail, or seeing the Fountain of Youth, or clutching the Sorcerer's Stone. He looked so real, and I thought I saw THROUGH him, and for a moment, truly understood him, stood in his shoes and became him.  
  
And then, it was as if the shutters of the beautiful mansion were closed. Like shutters, eyelids closed over those expressive eyes and he straightened. Again his face became stern and unforgiving, his voice curt. The sun seemed to gray on his face from the strictness, and the ground became cold under our feet again. It was like a dream. Just a moment, then all gone.  
  
"Of course not", he quietly snapped at Shizuku, who cowered in her seat (why? She's an Azure, after all). "I believe that only good biographies should be put in here. It doesn't make any sense to talk about a villainous rogue who led a movement against good protocol. Close up your books. I'm sure you've heard this once, but you'll hear it again."  
  
Taking the pointer, he lifted it to the picture of Eterny Marks above the white board. "This is the great man who developed this highly efficient system of organization. He was a genius, by all means. He led the United Countries under the flag of Sindia to conquer this whole world. This way, we have absolute comfort and order in our country. You see, it is because of hated rebels like the ones in the Rebellion of 1989 that have led some people in our country to believe that our organization to be wrong."  
  
Wrong, wrong. This all shouldn't be coming from him. Didn't he see it? His pride let our proud, proud teacher do this? He was backtalking to himself, didn't he realize? I could see the other's didn't understand either; he was talking about HIMSELF in a derogatory way. I held my face in my hands. Every single word he said against himself seemed to go straight to my heart. And I thought about our society, how it was managed. Unlucky wasn't the ONLY reason people like Kurapika were Greens; it was inequality. And looking around, I could see some people still didn't understand what was wrong with us. I kept this little information to myself, and vowed I would be a little kinder to Kurapika in the future.  
  
"And so, people like Kurapika Kurata, namely ME", he emphasized the word, "are the criminals of our nation. That is why I am here today, why I cannot be like the rest of my family. In accordance to my actions, I have changed my family name to our colony name, Kurata. They do not want to associate with me, which is perfectly understandable because of my previous actions in the Rebel Color Movement. I understand the way society today, and see the light of Eterny Marks' philosophy. I was wrong in my actions, and I was young and brash back then. Now I know to obey the rules of protocol and organization that our great founder has set down for us." He paused, and the bell rang. Wordlessly he pressed the release button on our desks and dismissed us.  
  
I stayed half a second at my desk before getting up. It sounded so painful, coming from his lips. He was talking about himself – I couldn't imagine myself going up there, in front of all your students, and talk about how stupid you were in the past. It made my heart break, to see such a warrior once, in the Rebel Color Movement (as much as that was wrong) be beaten to the ground so thoroughly than Leorio, Gon and I ever could. It had truly beaten him. I felt so sorry; here was a man who spent his life fighting, who now had to make peace with unruly students. It didn't suit him.  
  
On a split second determination, I marched straight up to him. I opened my mouth, "Kurapika –" A hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me before I could complete my sentence. It was Kuroro, and his face was paler than anything I had ever seen.  
  
"Go, now", he urged me. When I didn't move, he spoke again. "The bus is waiting, Killua." I wondered how he knew my name, but before I could do anything, I was shoved out of the door, the last one out, and before I was completely held out, I watched as the door closed on Kurapika's chair, Kurapika's face hidden in his hair and his hands, looking utterly defeated, completely spent. He seemed to be in great pain, by the way his shoulders shook with sobs. But I didn't see any tears. And then the door was closed, and I walked back down the hall and outside to the bus stop. I got on, and looked up at our class window. Kuroro was there, looking down at me, almost as if to make sure I wasn't back at the door, listening. Then he turned away, and the bus pulled away from the school to end another day.  
  
I wondered what it felt like to be Kurapika, to be in pain all day long and not be able to relieve it. It was a prideful pain, and that was the hardest to bear. I didn't want to be a Green, I vowed. I'd stay an Azure. But all the same, I wondered, just wondered, what it would be like to be in pain every single excruciating second you're up there, talking about how horrible you are, talking about how the things you used to fight against but were too strong for you. I wondered, just what it was like to be him. 


	3. Music

Ch.3: Music  
  
Today was a Saturday. Unfortunately for us, we had school on Saturday. But it was just an exception today; we had a field trip.  
  
Kuroro was the teacher who was going along with us. We watched as his class (still in deep thought), filed into an immaculately straight line and one by one approached the platform. The man at the desk gave a bored grunt when the headpiece was finally slipped over their eyes and gave the green button a push. After a flash of light, the student would be gone, away to Lomas University, and the next student would be led up to the top of the platform. This…whatever was invented by some guy called Garos Cine who somehow developed this system of rapid transport from one place to another. It was as necessary, and absolutely ordinary, as if you had a car back on the last age or so. But this didn't use up any fuel – just energy, and that could be easily provided. Hey, global environmentalists were happy, so why should we complain? Those people could get a little annoying, to say the least.  
  
Riding the Teleporter was a little queasy. You had to put this headpiece over your eyes and it would show you the coordinates (exact down the very last decimal) and then you'd get this nauseous feeling and then you would be there. You'd step off the platform in whatever destination was that was listed at the coordinates, and that was the end of that. How this machine worked – I'd never know. I didn't particularly WANT to know. It had something to do with the mind being persuaded that it was going somewhere or such. Very strange and not at all interesting.  
  
As every student at Brooklyn High had to do each year, we took a tour of the best university in the world. That, of course, would be the school our DEAR (that was sarcastic) GREEN teacher went to: Yorkshire University. The 'highest honor' award thing was called the Illumination Award. Every year they'd have some graduating guy get it. How Kurapika Kurata managed to get it before age fifteen was unknown to the rest of us. He must have been a psychopathic genius or something. Of course, if Kurapika had ever been a genius in the first place, he sure didn't seem like it now. He seemed like, well, a very Green recruit.  
  
Kuroro talked to his class about the North Wing being the English department, the West Wing being whatever, blah blah blah. I tuned him out and looked around. Shalnark and several other students were looking at a map. Shizuku was hurriedly copying it down; she probably predicted she'd forget about it after two minutes or so. I pushed past both and looked up. I frowned. Damn, I was too short.  
  
Suddenly I remembered something. I pushed back out of the crowd and raised my hand. Kuroro stopped abruptly. "Yes?"  
  
"Where's the music and mythology wing?", I asked simply. He blinked at me once and answered, "The North – wait, where are you going?"  
  
But I was already taking off. I had seen enough of the map to know where the North Wing was. I snickered under my breath. Stupid Green Kurapika! He didn't realize just how EASY it was to find him.  
  
I stopped in front of a set of something like ten or twenty doors, all with the words "Music" on them. Under them were subtitles like "String", "Instrumental", "Orchestra", "Vocal"…and the list went on. All of them seemed to have music coming from them. I glared at the window that was too far up on the door for me to look through. I tried to jump up and look through. All I managed to see was the inside room's white ceiling. Giving an annoyed grunt, I then latched myself on the bottom and tried to pull myself up, the metal digging painfully into my fingernails. Just as my eyes reached the bottom border, the door opened and I fell backwards.  
  
A little odd-looking lady was standing over me. She looked at me quizzically and asked, "What are you doing?" in a voice that sounded like it was from a little girl instead of a teacher. I sweatdropped more from her appearance than from the lack of what to say.  
  
"Eh…", I stumbled over the words, "um, I'm looking for Kurapika Kurata."  
  
The girl teacher's face softened a little and didn't look quite as confused for a moment. "Oh", she said, and thought for a moment. "I think he should be next door right now." When I started to go to the next door, she pulled my arm back with surprising strength in her fingers and ushered me into a room. "Sakilo, go to the Strings room and see if Kurapika's there." As I watched, a girl placed her clarinet on the stand and quietly exited. The teacher smiled at me in a sickening sweet way. "Stay here for a bit, young man. Saki'll get Kurapika for you."  
  
I opened my mouth and shut it. She wasn't paying attention to me anymore. Instead, she was already tapping her music stand and telling the class to start on this measure and play with that ferocity. I stood back while they played. I had to admit they were pretty good. But I guess it was expected of the best university in the world. The class' music tapered off as the girl Sakilo returned and waited patiently for the teacher to notice her.  
  
"Senritsu, Kurapika is not in the Strings room. They say he left to run copies off of something." The class gave a murmur; from what I could tell, they were debating whether or not to send me to the main office or not because I was distracting them or something along those lines. I shrunk against the wall. I didn't think my abnormally white hair was THAT distracting. The chatter grew so loud that it must have disturbed the other classes because someone had to scream, "What's going on here?" before everyone quieted down.  
  
Bingo, I grinned. It was Kurapika.  
  
The Green was surprised to see me, to say the least. Behind him, I could hear the chatter of the other students also from Brooklyn High, having caught up with me. Kurapika gave me a stern look and closed the door behind him. A girl giggled and Senritsu shushed her. Outside I could hear Kurapika and Kuroro talking.  
  
The class seemed to LEAN towards the door. The door opened and Kurapika pulled me out. I couldn't even say "Thank you" before the Green closed the door behind me and pushed me against the wall. His voice was dangerous, even as the thought "He's just a Green, he shouldn't be able to threaten me" crossed my mind. His face was not the white mansion I had seen back in the classroom; it was angry, a beautiful, graceful kind of anger. Kuroro stood beside him, his hand suspended on the wall above me so I couldn't escape. They acted like a gang of two, about to ask me to give up my lunch money.  
  
For a moment, Kurapika looked like he was going to speak. His eyes flickered once to the blue glass armband on my arm that told the world I was an Azure. And in that moment, he seemed to come to a decision. His eyes closed, and he took a breath. I tensed for a verbal reprimand, a "What the heck were you thinking?!" or a "You are SOOOO dead!". But instead, he just breathed out again, and then his eyes opened. He turned and went to the head of the line again. The class stared after him. With me running away and not found – he wasn't going to punish me? My face started to turn into a smile, relieved in having escaped some awful fate that Kurapika would have had in store for me. But Kuroro's face stopped me.  
  
I never noticed just how his face looked until now. He had always seemed to be smiling, content, before. But now, there was a slight turning in of his eyebrows, and even though he didn't say anything and his face looked perfectly neutral, I could tell he was angry. I looked away and my face burned with embarrassment I didn't imagine I would feel. After all, what had I done? A Green was lower than me, even if he was older. You spent your whole life making SURE that the other classes behaved, right? It wouldn't be right if they got out of line, right? I couldn't imagine why I was embarrassed; there was nothing wrong with putting a Green back where he belonged. So, what was this feeling I had? It felt as if… I had disappointed someone. Which, of course, would be Kurapika.  
  
What, did he expect our class to be nice and in line all the time like C-12D? And with that last thought, I straightened and joined the rest of the group. Several victorious snickers sounded around me, as if for congratulating me on making a fool out of Kurapika. Leorio and Gon gave me a nudge; their faces showed that I had scored a point against our teacher. And the guilty feeling inside of me only grew more as I snickered and pointed at Kurapika with them.  
  
Kuroro seemed oblivious to us. But I could tell he wasn't happy. And that wasn't good because he was a Violet. Yet, I doubted he would apprehend me; Kurapika should have been the one to administer the punishment, if I had one. It wasn't any of Kuroro's business. And I think he knew that – and so when Kurapika didn't do anything, I guess Kuroro felt he didn't really have any right to say anything because I wasn't his student.  
  
The Strings room was full of silent students. All of them had raised eyebrows as Kurapika walked in, followed by about sixty students or so. This should have been his fourth class today; Brooklyn High had more than ten classes of sophomores, and all of them came into whatever class Kurapika was teaching at the moment just to get a taste of what it was like. Kurapika stood at the stand, and for a moment, I could see that beautiful house with the white walls and golden curtains. His face looked triumphant, and when I looked out over the students he conducted, their faces lifted in inspiration, I knew why they could be so…joyful to play with Kurapika. Then the music started, and the glide of strings lifted the somber atmosphere.  
  
It was etheral, angelical, the way the group was conducted. When a certain side toned down to a soft hush, the other side would rise up like a wave and bowel us away again. It was truly, truly inspiration. It lifted your spirits and lowered them. I never had had much taste for classical music before, but at the sound of the strings, harmonizing, darting between melodies, I found myself having more respect for whichever composer wrote this so long ago than the bands that played today on electric guitars and blasting sound speakers.  
  
And then I noticed something dreadful. Something that shouldn't have been here. THE STUDENTS ALL WEREN'T WEARING THEIR ARMBANDS. Instead, they wore a white cloth, bound either on a leg, as a scarf or on an arm. My face paled. This was against the law, wasn't it. Quickly I looked back at Kurapika. HE WAS ONLY WEARING A WHITE CLOTH TOO. I was confused. The music seemed to sour in the air like over-aged milk, and I pushed past people, still awesomely inspired by the music, the people who didn't realize there was something terribly, terribly wrong here.  
  
A teacher seemed to sense my distress. Kuroro pulled me out of the room and into the hall. Behind us, the music seemed to glimmer in the air before the door shut and the sound was completely blocked. The teacher seemed to have read my thoughts: "You've noticed it too, have you?"  
  
"The bands", I spluttered, "he could be arrested, he could go to jail like he did before and this time he'd stay forever and ever –" I stopped, and realized just who I was defending. Confusion filled me for a moment before I knocked the thought from my mind to protest some more. Kuroro stilled me with a hand, and led me over to a bench nearby.  
  
"Lomas University is currently the only university in the world that is something called NonColored. The students here are, essentially, potential rebels like Kurapika used to be. In fact, the main bulk of the protesters in the Rebel Color Movement of 1989 came from Lomas. The people who go here believe that the old way, back when everyone was equal and there WERE no colors, was better. They still support Marks' system of Colors and respect him for it because he was a true genius to think of all these complicated processes that comes with a new society – but they feel it isn't right. That's why instead of their colorbands, they wear white armbands to symbolize peace and equality between all. Here, there are no Colors – there are less fights here, if you've noticed. People here respect each other's differences and individual interests instead of what color they come from here." Kuroro leaned on the creaky wood and looked heavy-lidded at the ceiling. "It's a different world."  
  
I got the feeling there was something else he wanted to say. "Are you saying that the Color system is wrong?"  
  
He smiled faintly, as if he knew I was going to ask that. "Yes and no", he finally answered. "I respect the Color system for organizing the people, bringing the same Colors together into their own communities, and the different Colors apart. I respect it because its very complexity is the work of a genius. However, I believe that there are better ways to organize people…but it is all in the timing, all in the time." At my confused look, his smile grew a little wry and he continued, "You see, if our society was like it was back then, there wouldn't be as much respect for each other as we have here. There would always be people who WANTED the Color system type of society. Then, if we have the Color system installed, there would be people who want the old society back. So you see, one way or the other, we can never completely satisfy the people's needs."  
  
I leaned back, more in thought at his words than I had ever been. It had never occurred to me that the Color system might be…unwanted, somewhere out there. It always seemed just THERE. It was usual, the ordinary, the routine. And the past history didn't make me think that maybe, a long time ago, there was freedom between people, the ability to pass from one class to another without going out of each other's ways to knock the other down. I could only imagine the competition back then to get into either Yorkshire or Lomas – it must have been even more packed than it was now! But I had heard that Lomas took all Colors, not just Violets or Azures. They offered this sacred freedom to walk around without having to bow down low to anyone to everyone in the world. I understood that this WAS, indeed, a wonderful, almost magical place. Here people didn't care about their families. Here they were themselves, and even though the reality of the world outside always pressed down once in a while, this place became a place where they could talk to anyone and have a conversation about anything. It was freedom, freedom to its fullest extent that I had never experienced before.  
  
And when I walked back into the classroom and listened and watched Kurapika's violin sing in his skillful hands, I knew why he was so happy. This was the place where he could play, teach, live as nowhere else provided. In his music he explored the freedom of the past, delved into the pains of the future. This was HIS music, his place in the world where he belonged. That day, I realized the whitewashed mansion I had seen, the light spilling out like heaven's door, was here. This tattered old building was the castle Kurapika lived in, and though the walls confined physically, it was actually freer than any teaching, any lecture, any COLOR, any music could ever, ever describe. 


	4. Defy

Ch.4: Defy  
  
The Monday we came back, Kurapika was not in class. All of wondered where he was. Rumors buzzed around school; Kurapika had never missed a day before, so why did he now? But all of shrugged it off. After all, our Green teacher could always have some other thing on his mind, maybe visiting some grave or paying some bill or seeing some other person. By afternoon, the excitement had pretty much died off, and students were once again talking about their own teachers. I could tell, by some of the expressions on my classmates' faces, that they were glad the school's attention wasn't focused anymore on Kurapika, but on regular schoolwork. I knew all of us had that distinct feeling that something was wrong.  
  
But I guess we shouldn't have worried. The next day Kurapika was back. And though all of us were burning with curiosity about just where he was, he seemed even more detached (and more strict) than ever. Ubogin suggested that maybe we should "beat it out of him", but Pakunoda just told him that that would be giving into whatever gossip and rumors were circling above the school now. Today was like any other day. The first period passed with flying paper and straws firing spitballs, but Kurapika seemed to mind it not with detachment, but with an odd sense of not quite all being there. It became apparent that his mind was somewhere else, perhaps on whatever had happened yesterday that made him miss class.  
  
His voice faltered. Slowly, the marker in his hand slipped and fell. He propped the history textbook on the shelf before he collapsed completely with a very dead sound. For a moment, no one moved. Then something, something came up inside of me, and for a moment all I could see was the sight of him, leaning over me, his eyes flickering over to the blue armband on my arm, then sighing and moving away. He didn't give me a punishment. It became clear to me, now. HE DIDN'T GIVE ME A PUNISHMENT THAT DAY BECAUSE I WAS AN AZURE. It may have been the only NonColor place in the world, but he believed, in that moment, that he was still in the outside world, unable to move a finger against me. And even though he should have given me a punishment, he felt I would never, ever understand what he did, his inspiration, the house with the shutters open and the rooms filled with light – he felt I would never see, never feel that LIFT of freedom.  
  
I lifted myself out of the desk, tearing the lock apart in the process. I threw the offending door into the wall and ran down the aisle, regardless of the eyes that followed me. My mind whirled with insane thoughts. I was going to help a Green. I was going to be arrested, I was going to be detained, I was going to go to juvenile hall and stay in its gloomy halls forever and ever and ever and I was never going get out. But that didn't seem to matter. Screw the Color System. Screw General Marks. Screw the class and all the witnesses. It didn't matter if I was committing a heinous act of defiance against this society that had raised me so high. I was going to help someone, and that was all that mattered. And as I ran knelt to lift Kurapika, I felt the strength of a million rebel hands helping me.  
  
Turning him over, I first checked his pulse. It was quick, beating fast like a rabbit's. My eyes darted to the release button at the desk and I slammed my palm down on it. "Shizuku", I commanded, and pointed quickly to the door. "Get Kuroro. NOW." The girl nodded and hurried down the hall. The class crowded around me, but all of them seemed incapable of helping. It occurred to me that they were just like me, once, afraid of the consequences. But I wasn't afraid anymore, even though my blood rushed on a sugar high and my heart pounded in my ears like a scarlet drum. I snarled at them, and a few of them knelt as well. Several of the others moved towards the phone to call the nurse's office, but Ubogin warded them away. Mentally I congratulated his common sense; let Kuroro take care of this first. The others, kneeling, stopped, their hands hovering over Kurapika's prone form, unsure of what to do. Their actions annoyed me. Why were they afraid of doing something right? THIS WAS OUR TEACHER. That day we went to the University, we saw the real side of him, the side of him that flew over our heads in understanding. He may not have been kind, but he had been right. That was enough for me to help him.  
  
Hands lifted him over. Shalnark took one of the teacher's hands in his and rubbed the back of it slowly, as if it would coax consciousness back. Kuroro came in, softly, Shizuku following. The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses. Slowly he knelt and picked the twenty-year-old blonde up in his arms like a baby, and made his way out of the room. I trailed behind him, and my voice caught in my throat. What was I trying to say? Was it that I had forgotten what was on my mind? I felt heartbroken, the feeling of a love taken away. The love of a teacher, I thought. Kurapika was being taken away. For how long I didn't know. And that was what made me sad, made me wonder when, if ever, Kurapika would awaken. I wondered how much he had hidden from us – how hard he had worked. A teacher was supposed to be close to his students, to understand each and every one of the individuals in his class. But this Color system didn't provide the room for it. It separated us, divided us. I knew now that was wrong. He tried his best to be our teacher, I realized. But the reason we never saw that white mansion, that light from his eyes was because we didn't let him. He knew we wouldn't understand what it was to truly free from the constrains of our society. Only when we saw him, the bending violin his hands, singing, whispering, speaking to us, telling us that we did not know freedom, that we did not know what we truly were until we got rid of these colors, until these extra, unnecessary differences were put away in a box and locked up and the key thrown away. HE had not pushed us away, we never gave him a chance. We thought that was right. We thought that because everyone else thought it was right.  
  
I wasn't sure how, that evening, all of us managed to gather all at the same time at the hospital he was kept at. Kuroro was already there, holding his hand like Shalnark had done, sometimes bringing it to his forehead as if the mere touch would tell Kurapika his very thoughts. It seemed, one by one, the room he was kept in was filling up with people. Some brought flowers, and cards. His University students (Kuroro must have contacted them) came in too, bringing gifts. One brought his violin, and propped his beloved instrument by his pillow so his inspiration would always be in easy reach. The little table nearby filled up with gifts. And as they went out, I found myself stopping each of them, telling them that I was happy Kurapika had so many people who understood him, who took it upon themselves to come and see him, to make him happy. I didn't care if they were Yellow or Green or whatever Color they were; they were people who saw Kurapika as he really was. None of them looked at the Blue on my arm. I was surprised when some eyes filled up with tears at my thanks. I found a girl, the girl who brought the violin, kneeling down in front of me. She took my hands like they belonged to a sacred saint, and brought them to her lips, saying, "Bless you, little one, for being here." I found myself crying after that.  
  
The little female teacher, the Winds teacher, came in a little late, after most of the people had left. She lifted the flute to her lips and out played a breezy song, lifting upwards and downwards, spiraling like birds in the sky. It dried my tears. It seemed to command the very elements. When the music turned low, the lights paled, and when the music lifted into chorus, the sun glinted brightly off of Kurapika's head of golden hair. Everyone in who came in that room wished Kurapika's eyes were open again. In a way we didn't quite comprehend, he had touched us all.  
  
I wasn't sure who or what brought me home and back to school again. All day, the class was taught by a wrinkly old woman who taught the class in a commandeering way. All of us wanted Kurapika back. None of us had noticed just how his voice lifted and lowered in the ups and downs in speech that he had seemed to master, like his music. This woman didn't know anything. She didn't UNDERSTAND like Kurapika did. And when she looked at the list Kuroro provided as the lesson plan in lieu of Kurapika's absence, she sniffed and said haughtily, "Why, your teacher's just a GREEN" in a very obnoxious voice. Everyone the class got detentions for the last week of school that we had left. The reason was simple: every desk lock in the room was broken, and every piece of paper was used to throw at the offending wrinkly THING that was just standing there. She looked like she had been painted red, a target. We tormented her until Kuroro came in and told us to stop. However, when she retreated with a huff, he gave us all a wry smile, telling us without words that that lady should have seen that one coming. The rest of that day and the next were all taught by Kuroro, who combined the two classes and taught then in the multipurpose room. He left our desks unlocked.  
  
And for the first time in our lives, we took off our armbands in public and donned white pieces of cloth instead. Kuroro handed them out wordlessly. His class already had theirs. When you asked any of them where they wanted to go after high school, all of them answered, "Lomas. Definitely."  
  
And that day, Ubogin and his little gang refrained from beating up people. Under Kuroro's watchful eye, they read Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Ernest" as diligently as Shizuku and Shalnark and did their math problems as correctly as C-12D. There was more to this Color society than we could ever have imagined. It tore people apart when they could have been friends. It separated people when they were family. And it made people hate each other. All of this became clearly wrong to us that day. We all saw the world from Kuroro's point of view that day: respecting the Color system but not agreeing with it. We all found ourselves in Kurapika's shoes that day, and vowed we would never treat him like a Green again.  
  
And then the next day, Kurapika awoke, and told us that he was glad to see us. All of us wanted to hold his hand. I don't believe there was a dry eye that day. And when we saw him, he smiled, and the white mansion with Heaven's light under the door beckoning, was apparent in his face. 


	5. Closed Shutters

Ch.5: Closed Shutters  
  
It MUST be something in the air today. Over the heads of the rest of the students, I could see them practically BOUNCING in their chairs. But when I looked down, I saw my fingers were tapping the (broken) lock on the side of my desk, and that I was absently hopping up and down in my seat as well. I looked over at Ubogin and my eyebrows went up at the cheesy expression on his face. My eyes shifted to Shalnark, who was visibly scraping the ceiling with his head as his chair practically bounced out of the nails that held it to the floor. The way his hair flapped and the way he hopped like there was no tomorrow reminded me of a five year old. The only one in the entire classroom that seemed to be completely normal today was probably Shizuku. She saw in her regular seat, taking notes. Everyone now and then she looked up at the board, and then she would start scribbling again. However, I could see the palest difference of blushes on her face every time she looked down.  
  
There was a good reason for the restlessness in the class through. It was the day after, and Kurapika was back in business.  
  
He still looked a bit pale. Kuroro combined our classes together again, C- 12B and C-12D, in the auditorium. For the first time in our lives, we learned something: history before the twentieth century was never taught to us before. For the first time our lives, the words "Aztecs", "Chinese", and "Sumerians" jumped out from the pages of a supposedly forbidden (in class, of course) textbook from before the nineteenth century. Kurapika's voice sounded so proud that day, and we often wondered why. I guess it must have been because he realized that even us, the people used to beat down other people, could realize that this Coloring was what was wrong. It separated us. And now that we realized we didn't want it, he was more than happy. It was just like another Lomas University, except in our classroom.  
  
It made us excited, being taught in an environment that was entirely different. When the morning came, we found it was more fun to throw paper wads at each other rather than the teacher, though Kurapika did get a few from trying to stop us. Kuroro was always on the side, laughing silently until tears streamed down his cheeks when Kurapika tried to break Ubogin and Nobunaga apart. There was a side to Kurapika was came apparent today: a happier self, pleased that he could teach us something that we were fascinated about. He loved his job, I could tell, even though the government was probably was suppressing him from getting another job somewhere else, a better paying job. He knew us each very well, as we realized that day, even though he gave no part of himself. He was a watcher, an observer. He was his true self that day, with a wit that outwitted Kuroro and a sarcasm that left all the mouths in the classroom dry.  
  
He was intelligent. For the first time in our lives, he was smarter, brilliant, not just a GREEN with unluckiness, but a man who knew all that was supposed to be known. He truly was intelligent - you could ask him any question and he would be able to answer in one way or another. He didn't hold back on his answers anymore, like before he was hospitalized. He was open. We even saw him smile a few times, and the boys roared with laughter when several of the girls swooned.  
  
The armbands that were once worn so proudly on our arms were covered with bands of white silk. We paid no attention to them. Five minutes until the bell, Kurapika looked down at his notes on his desk, and his face seemed to change. A myriad of emotions crossed his face at that moment, then they were gone and there was our old strict, Green teacher Kurapika. And we knew that it was time to take off the wonderful white bands that made us all EQUAL, and began to act the snob again. And when we walked outside, we kept this new knowledge, this new wealth of history, in our minds, and we acted our normal, snobbish selves, complaining about the lessons Kurapika had given that day. But in our hearts, Kurapika INSPIRED us further than we could ever had imagined.  
  
Before we went out of the classroom, Kuroro stopped us. "Don't tell anyone", he warned. We nodded solemnly. We knew the consequences. If we told anyone, WE wouldn't be punished, but KURAPIKA would. He was just a Green, after all, and the system still saw him as just such. They didn't see the pure genius of his intellect, or the way his smiled seemed to light the room. When he smiled, the world became colorful. Not as in the Color system's "Colorful", but as in the shades and hues of a drab classroom jumping out at you all at once. And at home, I swear I could feel everyone of Kurapika's students going to bed with a strange, comforting smile. We'd see him tomorrow for more rebel lessons. We didn't care if we were breaking the law. The law had cheated us of decency, right? We shot it right back in their faces.  
  
The next day, we learned about the Mayans. We were shocked at their bloody rites and wondered how they could play ball with their feet. There were also the Japanese, the fierce samurai with their swords and their bulky armor. The book Kurapika passed around and read from had been from his grandmother's collection, he said. It was forbidden to keep such books, but he told us with a twinkle in his eye that Lomas University had several rooms full of salvaged books. After he was done reading to us, he too, would donate the old history book to the library.  
  
He also showed us a magazine of the latest archaeological finds. "They're pretty outdated", he said with a smile. "However, they have very good pictures." We stared at them with round-eyed, open-mouthed satisfaction. "Just think what they could have found if the Color system had been abolished!" The archaeologists at the sites all were different Colors, which meant that each of them had their own jobs. A Violet couldn't do a Green's job, and vice versa. This made it very complicated and difficult. Plus, as Kurapika mentioned, heat and humidity wore down artifacts. And for the first time, we saw a word with and without Colors, and how the whole concept of a Color system came into play.  
  
The Color system had actually been established a long time ago, in ancient India. There were four castes, or classes, back then. They were imposed on the Indians by the Europeans when they came in and claimed the subcontinent for their own. This grew to be highly popular among those who were on the top with the wealth and the power in their hands. And of course, along the way, there were many, many rebellions. But nothing worked. And later, this system that evolved over time was modified and changed to include everyone. It was spread by an English General who rose in power. In time, his followers dethroned all that needed to be dethroned and took over the world. "And while that may be a very effective way of keeping us all in place and order, I believe that it is wrong, and also that one day, it will fall and be forgotten."  
  
And then he got a smile on his face that made all the eyes turn to him and wonder how he could be the same strict, boring teacher we had before. "And one day, children will once again be taught about Egypt and the Nile Civilization, about St. George and the Dragon, about the Israelites' flee from slavery. One day, people like me won't have to wear this anymore." And his hand brushed, almost as if he were frightened, against the green armband under the white silk. It clinked and everyone heard it.  
  
A sobering thought. None of us wanted to leave the classroom after a day. It was so different, to see all of these other people, people from the past. All of us tried to suck in everything at once; there was only two weeks left in school. We had to make the best of it - next year, Kurapika wouldn't be our teacher. And as we thought about it further, Kurapika would have another class like we were before: not understanding, selfish, going out of our ways to knock other people down to the floor. He'd just be abused again.  
  
And at the end of the day, we got a surprise. Kurapika had brought his violin.  
  
He tested the strings, and drew the scarlet bow across them. It flashed in the light like a million Christmas lights, and a wistering, twinning sound came from it. Sometimes it flowed like water over smooth stones - other time it darkened like coffee and oppression. And the violin seemed to escalate up a silver staircase, climbing higher and higher, faster and faster, until it ended on a brilliant notes that rang through us like clashed cymbals, singing of dissonance. Then the music softened, soothed our nerves as if an apology for disturbing us, and the sound of a flute accompanied it. Kuroro's flute sang along sadly, the whispering notes like half-forgotten thoughts that we groped around to say. And when the music died and the bell rang, we were temporarily left speechless. The other students in the other sophomore classes must have wondered at our silence. Thank gods the rooms were soundproof.  
  
And then we filed out, and the hall was filled with chatter, and everything progressed as before. But the classes were different now. No longer were they ramblings about the great Eterny Marks or the Color System his ingenious mind designed. After a little while, I realized that the only reason the Color System was here now was because Eterny Marks had the military power to take control of the entire world and install this insane system. It didn't make sense at all, of course, now that I could think rationally, from a historical and rational point of view: it was like Legalism in ancient China in opposition to Confucianism. Legalism was dedicated to keeping law, order and justice in China. As effective as its reward/punishment system was effective, it was also highly hated because it asked a lot for just a simple crime. Confucianism was a human philosophy, and it bended the rules a bit to let reason and human judgment have a say. No one had a say against Eterny Marks, though. I could only imagine how many uprisings there were at that period that opposed him. But there was probably no stopping Marks - he simply had too many troops. I didn't want to think about that time; it must have been painful, full of suffering for the people who were made Greens and Yellows. It would have changed everything. No one would remember that this system was wrong until five decades later.  
  
Absently my mind turned more to Kurapika. He, after all, WAS still an enigma - I mean, we knew nothing but that his parents were dead and that he had gotten out of Yorkshire with the highest honor possible, the Illumination Award. Suddenly I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and my eyes seemed to behold nothing. However, my mind was whirling with conflicting reports; how could this be? Kurapika was a Green, therefore ineligible for the Illumination Award, wasn't it? The Illumination Award was only given to VIOLETS. True, it was the highest honor in the entire school - and it was only awarded to the highest Color, the Violets. The other colors got their own "best person" awards: the Yellows had their Florian Pen Ceremony, where everyone donated pens to the most intelligent; the Greens had the Verdi Award, where a Green received a plaque; the Azures had the Symphonic, where they got a 'mystery' box that contained some sort of riddle (weird award, if you ask me). But the Violets was where you were headed. You couldn't rise up in society so if you were anything lower than a Violet, you couldn't get the Illumination Award, but the Illumination was always held the highest because it had the most prestige to be awarded such (and maybe because the media covered this one more than any of the others). Some years it wasn't even awarded. Then Kurapika was, or had been..a Violet.?  
  
On that thought, I dashed back towards the school. I had to get this straight; it couldn't wait for tomorrow. Tomorrow! It was Saturday, and that would mean I wouldn't be able to get this burning question answered. Praying to the gods, I hoped Kurapika had not left the school yet. I rounded the last corner, dashed up the steps, and started to climb the stairs to the third floor, where the five sophomore classes were located. This, this was impossible, wasn't it? Once a person was a Violet, or an Azure, or any color at all, you couldn't be de-Colored, right? This went across all protocol, all rules, didn't it? I didn't hesitate when I slipped on the last landing and slid to crash into the opposite wall. This question, this question couldn't wait! Silently I hurried my legs and my feet to the other end of the hall, where I didn't hesitate to throw open the door to C-12B and -  
  
- and witness what must be the most embarrassing thing I could've walked in on. They were.kissing. I froze for a moment, long enough for the shorter of the figures to notice me, and then I squeaked. Now both the pairs of eyes stared hard and accusingly at me. Slowly, almost as if that would help, I backed away, out the door, my grip on my backpack sweaty and slick. As I reached outside of the door, they stood, and I panicked. I turned around and ran, a shameful blush on my cheeks. I couldn't deny that scene wasn't.um, pretty or anything. It was just.um, surprising. VERY surprising.  
  
I hadn't gone three paces before Kuroro's hand on my collar choked the air from me and pulled me back into the classroom. The door slammed behind me and two intense pairs of eyes stared down at me. I gulped. This was even worse than the time they'd cornered me in the music hall of Yorkshire University. I felt like a very, very trapped mouse. I felt like I'd just run out of firepower.  
  
And very suddenly the shorter figure I had seen, Kurapika, began to laugh. It was a sweet, childish laughter that pealed like psalms in the evening. Soft, low, like a dim candle that brought the room to life with just its single flame, it sent the sunstream in torrents from the windows, and enhanced the colors against the polished desks and the whiteboard up front. And in Kurapika's face, the shelter with the lighted windows came to life, and I found myself agape with wonder. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, his face. So vibrant, so thrilling, like his music that sent my heart hum along with its melody. It was intangible, not quite in your reach, but you could see it. It was the sea, hidden behind the last barrier of hills, but being able to smell the brine, be able to feel the breeze blowing across your hair and know that you've almost arrived at your destination. This was what he told me. I was home when I saw him.  
  
Gently, he subsided, but his lips still curled into a Mona Lisa smile. And softly, Kuroro grasped the younger's chin, tilted it up, and kissed Kurapika in one fluid motion. I couldn't gasp, couldn't do anything. It seemed so right, somehow. In that moment, Kuroro was dark, and Kurapika was light. They foiled each other perfectly. Sweet intoxication hovered over them, and love was in their eyes. Such trust. I didn't think I'd ever be able to place that much trust into someone. And from them, I could see that they had given so much to each other, to this world that not much of their own stamina was left. They were in a confused world, a world they didn't want and didn't understand, and they found solace in each other's understanding. I could have laughed, I could have cried, there was so much emotion on their face. They were so honest, then. They were children, they were an old couple and everything in between. The whole world was incased in their expressions.  
  
Somehow, I found my way to a chair and sat down. Kurapika stood in front of me, his face still tilted to one side, and his eyes still twinkling with fairy mischief. "So", he said teasingly, "did you enjoy that?" I blushed and gave an incoherent mumble I hoped he didn't understand. However, he didn't let me go, and asked me to repeat what I had said. "Maybe a little less mush", I said again, and the two teachers gave twin laughs and Kuroro ruffled my hair. "My", Kurapika said wonderingly, "I couldn't have guessed you like this sort of thing!" As they laughed, I swear my face turned as red as the brick the building was made out of.  
  
And then, suddenly, something out of the corner of my eye caught my gaze. As soon as I had seen it, I leapt to my feet and scampered to the door. Throwing it open, I barely caught a glimpse of a fleeing figure before I gave a shout and began to give chase. If that person had seen Kurapika and Kuroro kissing, then I knew something very, very bad would happen to Kurapika, and possibly to Kuroro. The figure was already halfway down the stairs when I reached them, almost out of breath. Giving a quick prayer to whatever god was up there, I leapt over the side of the banister down five stories and landed (thankfully) without a broken ankle. The figure emerged from the bottom and froze. I heard a clatter from the top and knew that the two teachers were coming. The boy looked at me again, just to decide. The he leapt over the side of the staircase, and before I could catch him, he had run out of the main doors. I considered going after him, but the teachers came down the stairs, Kurapika pulling Kuroro along, and they looked at me wordlessly. A flush of shame came to my face and guilt shuffled my feet around. It was my fault, wasn't it? And looking at the two teachers, I could recall how they looked at each other, and the house with the light in the windows. I wondered how painful my punishment would be if I denied that house its light forever. I knew I'd get off okay, being an Azure and all, but Kurapika.had I doomed him?  
  
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Author's note:  
  
WWEELLLL, that was a long chapter. Sorry, sorry. Well, now you know the pairing, and now you know what poor little Kurapika has to go through. Don't worry, Killua's will be alright. As for Kurapika.well, let's just say I can't guarantee his safety. * cackles maniacally * Oh ho ho, I'll make him SUFFER. Mwahahahaha.ha! * sobers and mutters about being temporarily possessed*  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	6. Feathers

Ch.6: Feathers  
  
I'm not quite sure how I got through that weekend. I remember leaving dumbly, and turned down every phone call from Gon as an invitation to go over to his house and play video games (we had become pretty good friends, considering it had barely been a week before we had plotted to throttle Kurapika.of course, even more dramatic was the change of heart we had for our Green teacher - we could say that with affection now). I wasn't quite sure what I would do, or say, if I went over. Gon was.open. And he'd notice and ask what was wrong - he's not blind as people see him as. I wasn't sure what I would do when I went back to school on Monday. Just the thought of it made me sick, facing both students and Kuroro. I knew that I was to blame. If only I'd been a little faster, move a little quicker.  
  
Needless to say, I spent the entire last weekend before the rest of the summer either lying facedown on my bed or at my desk writing apology note after apology note. "I know this won't help anything but I just want to say I'm sorry.", I scribbled, then stared at the paper and tore it angrily from my notebook. That sounded like a line out of some romance novel. I sounded like I was some infatuated lover or something. The thought made me stop. Kuroro was a teacher, and he was the only person I might be able to face and not cringe, even though I'd failed him too. But Kurapika, he was so close to my heart now that it was amazing he'd gotten this far in just a week - it felt like I could be tortured a thousand years for the price of one week of friendship and never completely repay him. I could only imagine where he was now, but something, something kept me from seeing him, to actually pick up the phone and look up his number in the directory. I didn't have the nerve. What was I seeking?  
  
I was seeking the courage I lacked. I was afraid of the consequences, again, if I stepped over these Colored borders outside of our little haven of C-12B, what would happen to me? I would be apprehended, sent to juvenile hall, and I didn't want to go there and suffer what Kurapika had to suffer. It was selfish, shameful, but I couldn't do it. Outside the classroom that was Heaven and Kurapika as our Divine Teacher, the skies seemed cold and the future seemed black. But looking beside me, I could see that Kurapika's future looked even bleaker than mine. So why was I hesitating? He had shown me a glimpse of a world before, a world where we WEREN'T SEPARATED by what we were born into, but rather by the content of our character and the boundless intellect that everyone had inside of them. I could only imagine how far Kurapika would have gone if this had not been a world of unnecessary boundaries. He would be hailed as a president of history, a genius in every field that had ever been developed.but this accused system, this was what was holding all of us back! We were individuals - we couldn't be clumped together like nasty weeds for Death to pick! This was the only life we had, so why weren't we using it to our complete extent? Why was this system restraining us? Why couldn't anyone else see that it was horribly, terribly, catastrophically wrong?  
  
Think, I struggled to tell my fleeing self, think of the history he has told me, and imagine what he is when the violin is in his hands! Raise that scarlet bow, like a flag of rebellion, no matter how sheltered it is now, and raise it high! What was I waiting for? I MUST SAVE HIM. I saved him once, and nothing would stop me again!. And with that conviction, my trembling hands found the phone, and dialed in the number. One ring sounded. I tensed, and told myself that this proved nothing yet. Kurapika could just be out, buying groceries, or maybe he was with Kuroro somewhere. There was no need to frenzy just yet. The second ring. I closed my eyes as the flutterings of panic began to rise like a million monarch butterflies, and unbidden, images began to spring up, one more fearful than the other. What if he had been arrested? What if he was in jail, where he had been before amidst its four walls? What if the person I'd seen decided to take things into his own hands and Kurapika was. . . dead?  
  
Third ring. Visibly I jumped up in my chair. The hand that clutched the telephone began to sweat. My other hand began to tap frantically on the table, and my feet led me across the room and back again. Where was Kurapika? It was a mix of two factors, now: what happened to Kurapika, and also what would happen to me if whoever it was decided to report me as well? Pick up, pick up!, I urged the phone on the other end. Absently I checked the phone number even though I knew I would be right on it. And then, the short fourth ring and I could feel my heart plummet to my feet. No one picked it up. The phone clicked dead, and on my side I dropped the phone and it shattered on the kitchen tiles. My worse fears were confirmed. "Guilty", sang the chorus of angels to me on Judgment Day.  
  
And suddenly I couldn't wait for Monday. I HAD to know what happened. I had to be sure that it wasn't too LATE. Grabbing the directory, I swept through the teacher addresses and memorized it in an instant. My feet flew down the streets, past downtown, towards Yorkshire University - it figured that Kurapika would probably live near there, wouldn't he? - and minutes seemed to pass like excruciating painful hours. "Stay away from me!", I tried to yell to the people I brushed past, and I paid no mind to the armbands on their faces or whatever idiot Violet was stupid enough to get in my way. One Violet actually tried to grab onto my arm when he saw what I'd done to push his friend into a wall, and I gave an absent backhand to whoever it was. I was in a HURRY, didn't those idiot people understand? I didn't stop to ask for directions - it was as if something led me. My mind seemed to become separate from my body, being able to think frantic thoughts while still keeping a rational mind. Somehow, I found the building to his apartment, and I clattered up the stairs, intent on making as much noise as I could. If you're there, Kurapika, silently I urged, and I prepared to face the worst as I neared the third floor, wait for me!. I opened the door out of the stairways and stopped. Left and right I looked. At the end of the hall, a door was open.  
  
And suddenly, I got that dreaded feeling that when I got to that door, Kurapika would be gone. Dragging my feet to the threshold, I beheld the sight that was within and try as I might, I couldn't block it from my mind even as I closed my eyes.  
  
The room had literally been torn apart, ripped to shreds, whatever you care to call it. What had once been a coffee table had been cracked straight through the middle, and from the splinters I could see someone had been slammed into it. It was jammed straight into the couch, where feathers gave sort of an ironic Heaven touch to the whole place. Paper was everywhere, on the floor, on the bookshelves, under my feet and under the halves of the door that I had stepped into. As I moved my feet away and picked up a few that had fallen together, I could see they were music, probably the music that was forbidden to be played. And as I thought about it, I realized that the whole world was infatuated with the Color system, this way that divided the people into curt little sections. What about the police? Where THEY color-coded as well? Where Green police not allowed to stick their noses into Violet cases? Were Violets paid to laugh when the Greens got themselves massacred? The music I heard on the radio every day - those were Azure channels. Never once did I think of listening to a Green channel, or a Yellow channel. Naturally, I thought all of those were inferior. I wasn't part of the 'in' anymore, the ones who did things dumbly. I would do my own thing, like Kurapika. And with that determination, I began to pick up the paper, stacking them carefully. I'd take them to the University later, I decided. Carefully I moved the coffee table away from the couch and hissed in pain as a splinter went up my thumb. Picking it out carefully, I threw it aside and struggled to drag the rug from under the table when there came a tingle that told me I wasn't alone.  
  
Whipping around, I faced the barrel of a gun. Very freaked out, I gave a step backward, coupled with a yelp as I fell over the side of the sofa. After a moment of assuring myself that I was still alive and nothing sharp had stuck me in the back or anything, I gave a groan as little fairy lights began to take over my vision for a few seconds. That HURT. I blinked and the little stars disappeared to replaced by a rather worried face over me. Unceremoniously, I gave an "Uhhnnn?" and the face above me crinkled into a customary smile and two hands helped me up. I was relieved to see that the gun was now in his back pocket instead of in his hand. It figured that Kuroro would be here, though. Absently I wondered why he had a gun.  
  
"Just for protection", he cheerfully answered my unspoken question (was he some kinda telepath?), seemingly unaware of the carnage around us. His eyes turned a little duller, seeming to focus in around him a little more. His hands fingered the fluffy couch (more like a featherbed) under us, and found a feather. He cupped it in his hands and then blew it out of his hands. It gave a little twirl, just to say hello, and then landed primly on the top of broken table before blowing over. I stared a little wistfully at the little white feather that now lay at the bottom of a chasm, and thought that it was just like Kurapika.  
  
The rest of the afternoon passed in relative silence. Gradually I got an idea of what Kurapika's little apartment should have looked like. Tidied, it looked very much as a teacher's room would have looked like. A closer look provided me with what looked like to be his family, maybe before his father's divorce and his mother's death. Maybe that wasn't even true - maybe they just put it in the textbook to make him look bad. He was such an enigma, and yet I felt he was somehow close to me. As much as he was a Green teacher to me and all the rest of the students in C-12B for most of the year, he had somehow crept into our hearts anyway. He was so surprising. I didn't know anything about him, and yet I CARED.  
  
When we were done, Kuroro ordered pizza or something and we ate on the not-broken dinner table. The delivery boy took one look at the split door and opened his mouth to ask, then his watery eyes darted to the violet armband on Kuroro and declined to comment. It proved just how influential Kuroro could be without even trying.  
  
As we ate dinner, I chanced to ask, "So where's he now?" I didn't have to clarify who 'he' was.  
  
Kuroro just looked at me and didn't say anything.  
  
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Author's notes:  
  
This is NOT the end. No, it ain't. But anyways, YAY! I spent two nights trying to wonder what to do, but I got it down today, and I'm quite pleased with it. Not as good as Ch.15 on "Golden Boy", though. . .it's okay. Just a warning, the next few chapters will be in Kurapika's POV. No more Killua, though I'll switch back soon. Doncha worry, Kurapika won't die. At least, I don't think he will. * snickers wickedly * Oooh, how I LOVE torturing characters.sorry, got off track. Anyways, the next few chapters will be a sort of recollection of Kurapika's life. As I said before, it will be in Kurapika's POV. Okay, see ya!  
  
Andrea Weiling 


	7. These Dreams

Okay. Don't freak. Sorry for the delay.many people wanted me to continue this, and so I did. Ever read "Lord of the Rings"? Read it - and that's what I mean by the word 'love' when I use it. Oh, and please don't kill me.  
  
Ch. 6: These Dreams  
  
He was dead. I didn't have to even look at the guards' faces to know that Kurapika had been put to death a week before; that was when they started to stop my visits to my former teacher. And from their eyes, I knew that he'd gone without a struggle, no fight, just acceptance. I wonder how he felt as they handed him the cup with that clear liquid, their eagle eyes gleefully watching every last drop drain into his mouth - how sad he must have felt as he stared up as he died, not at the open sky where he could play his violin and hear it vibrate across time and space, but at the gray ceiling and the walls of a prison cell. How could he have gone like that, just quietly like Socrates with all his friends watching as he drank his glass? How could he just leave without some anger, some desperate passion in his last moments? I could not believe that Kurapika could have been brought so low - that he could have been brought down from such confident heights to groveling at the feet of those unworthy animals who just saw him as an object of entertainment? Surely this was not the proud rebel leader - where was he in those last moments? My heart wanted to see that light of the white mansion at night when all is dark, I wanted to hear that single glimmering note that wavered above the class' heads like some invisible hope. . .  
  
For I could not see anything but the eyes in his last days of imprisonment, of existence-without-life, dull and dead. I tried to remember of all the times that he had stood up in front of the class and shown us slide after slide of secret pictures that had been taken at temple ruins before they were destroyed (they weren't part of the Color System) or the moments when the music streamed out of his magic hands and rose like incense offerings to the sky - the moments when he seemed the most talented, the most brilliant entity in the entire world, but I could not see them, I knew that they had happened in word and in memory, but I could not see his face, I could not remember anything about the classes he had taught that entire year. Instead there was just his face, emotionless as he was for all the school year except for the two weeks before school was let out for summer vacation (as it was now), viewing things but not really seeing them, eating things but not savoring them, feeling objects but not really touching them. Thankfully he was sane all the times I came to visit him; perhaps, though, if he had been hysterical, I would have been able to be more apathetical to him in his last days - the way he had been, lucid in all his waking hours, I drew closer to his empty confidence, daring to hope that somehow he would escape.  
  
It seemed in those hours I came, watching him spoon down hot soup that I had prepared at Kuroro's before visiting, I somehow loved him all the more, that he became dearer to me - as if his memory was somehow coming clearer in my mind even as he himself faded into a shade of himself before. I drew courage from the memory of his steadfast spirit that never seemed to break or even waver in resolve even though I could not 'see' him in these actions anymore. They would return after his death, I resolved. And somehow that thought didn't drive me to madness either - he did not seem to worry (but he didn't seem to feel either), and so somehow I didn't worry either, even though the other side of me begged for some miracle from God to save him. Indeed, he seemed already dead, he seemed only some spell- ridden corpse that by some horrible magic was still able to walk around and pretend he was my teacher. Still my love and my respect for his unwavering spirit grew.  
  
I did not dwell on the thoughts that I had put him in such position. Sure, I knew it was true, but I did not let that guilt overcome me; Kurapika was more important at the moment. Even in his last days, he managed to cram knowledge into my head, not caring who saw or heard, just as long as I took notes of his soft-spoken lectures, recited from the heart. Somehow they seemed the only time that he looked even remotely alive, so lost in his memories he was that sometimes he lost his train of speech and just stared out into the gray exercise yard of the prison outside of his barred window, as if to say, What wouldn't I give to be back in those times when I thought everything I did was right? Why choose this path? Why didn't I listen and just be a good little boy and hear what consequences there would be?  
  
Somewhere in the depths of my mind, I wanted to save him and become worthy of the martyrism that put Kurapika into the textbooks for other people to puzzle over. It was a selfish thought, of course, to want to become great and famous, even as a rebel and not an ally to the Color cause. But this did not override the pure love I had for my teacher now. All thoughts of Green and Blue and Violet left me; I let the guards outside speculate my special treatment for a lowly former rebel Green, let the entire world see. And this was another reason I wanted to become great and famous, because if I became as deadly as Kurapika was to the Color system, then I could save him, and Kurapika would be grateful to me. And though this incentive spurred my confidence, it obviously did NOT stimulate my brain cells fast enough to come up with a solution.  
  
I returned home to lie on my bed, my mind numb and fuzzy. I saw nothing, felt nothing in the hours I lay there, pondering my fate and the insistent "Why?" that went though my head like lightning. And even as my imaginative mind came up with inventive (and utterly impossible) schemes to power, the other side of my brain despaired. The anger within me was hot, and I had to quickly come to a conclusion that could somehow balance out between regretting my vow later in life and ultimately demolishing the Color system and also be worthy of Kurapika's memory. The knowledge that he taught had to be put to good use. I knew it was just youthful eagerness, but I wanted to be that person to teach all those little children someday what it was to live in the old times when samurai's and Aztecs existed, carry out Kurapika's legacy if I could. But what could I do now, a not-boy-not-man of sixteen years, what influence did I have over the minds of the public? I had to wait, and time was my enemy.  
  
I could only pray that waiting would not dull the pain of Kurapika's death too much, and that my impetuous anger, as spontaneous as it was now would not fail me when it came time for me to act. Too many times had humans proved fallible and unreliable. I could not allow myself to become the same.  
  
And how many of my old classmates would support me in that venture, when the time came? How many would remember Kurapika's teachings and the way his eyes shone with pride as he looked out at us and saw that each of us was listening to something completely new that we had never heard before? More than ever I thought of how I could only depend on myself - but the Color rebellion that I had in mind would not be achieved by one person alone. There would be enough people who desired such a rebellion to work with, but not to trust when the tanks finally rolled into the city and started to gun down people. Then they would just turn tail and run - not that I could blame them. Human instinct had it so that all people would chose 'flight' before 'fight'.  
  
In the space of time that seemed eternity as I lay on my bed with my hands unclenched and relaxed even as the anger within me flowed like fine wine between friends, all the extreme sorrows of the world came to me, it seemed, to beg for relief. Sometimes I felt that I might be able to turn back to my old life of ignoring the mistreatment of Greens and return to that state of apathetical unfeeling that predominated over the public anyways - I would fit in right with the rest of the crowd, wouldn't I? But then I would remember Kurapika, I would remember his face and his words as I knew I would remember them after his death, and I would get angry with myself for thinking of guilty thoughts. And so both sides of me warred back and forth, and I was surprised to find that the Color system had so much power over me; being born with it installed in my mind, it was hard to shake off.  
  
How many Violets and Blues would there be if I really did succeed in reviving the want for the abolition of the Color system? Many of them, I knew, would be just like me - perceiving the wrong, seeing the unjust but too scared to act against it. How was I going to recruit those people? More than ever I wished Kurapika were here, he had a brilliant mind that I had not.  
  
But he would have tried to dissuade me from my venture anyway. He would have told me to give up even before I started, even though I was trying to defend his memory with my actions. He would have been hesitant to help me, even though once he had been in the same position as I had been - and he understood that there was a lot more at stake than what I had considered. He would have looked up at me, his eyes piercing, and he would have said very calmly that I was doing a very foolish thing and that I should reconsider the value of my life. I couldn't be sure if I would have listened to him; it had never happened, and it would not happen now.  
  
At long last I fell asleep, skipping dinner and breakfast the next morning in favor for a long rest. People who are very tired can remember their dreams far clearer than when they have been sleeping well, and I had been tired beyond relief. The entire time I slept, I dreamt of skillful hands with slender fingers, and music that wistered up high into the depths of space until everyone could hear it.  
  
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ Author's note:  
  
Yes, I know, a long and tedious and boring chapter, however necessary it was. I know it bored a lot of people and I know that maybe I should have made Killua witness to his death or something, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. I have heard testimony that Killua does not sound like Killua. . .indeed, I think the very same, he is terribly OOC especially in this chapter and I do apologize. As for the long break between the last chapter and this one. . .let's say my brain went on vacation, hmm?  
  
Andrea Weiling 


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